


Litany

by LouHQ (LouAHQ)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Friendship, Harry Potter Next Generation, Heroes to Villains, Horror, Post-Hogwarts, Second War with Voldemort, The Quidditch Pitch: Going Under, The Quidditch Pitch: Leaving Feast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-02
Updated: 2007-09-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouAHQ/pseuds/LouHQ
Summary: A side story from the 8th Year Series. Way AU now that the 7th book is out.Draco has to herd a shell-shocked Harry into hiding after the final battle.





	Litany

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Thanks to Leviathan for the beta!

Author's note: An '8th Year' story, takes place between "There's a First Time for Everything" and "And So Are You". 

+++++

Litany  
  
+++++  
  
When Draco returned from checking the path ahead, he found Potter precisely where he left him: collapsed against the base of a tree, staring at nothing.   
  
"Let’s go, Potter. The way ahead is clear but it won’t be for long."  
  
Potter didn’t move so much as a finger, but he did say, in a pleasant conversational tone, "Riddle liked to bugger Muggle children."  
  
Disgusted, Draco shuddered, but he went over to Potter and grasped his elbow. "Stand up, Potter, quit lazing about." After a moment Potter clambered clumsily to his feet. He may be an oaf but at least he’s taking orders. As they made their way through the trees, Potter said, in that same tone, "First he would flay the skin off their parents in front of them."  
  
Draco winced. This was the 7th or 8th repetition of this cycle of comments on the Dark Lord’s habits, and Potter wouldn’t be side-tracked. Sometimes he could get Potter to respond to a direct question, but once done he’d go back to it. It had been an hour and a half since they had slipped out of the stone circle where Potter had finally killed that madman, there was at least another hour of travel before they got to a safe apparation point, dawn was coming on, they could be ambushed at any moment, and Draco thought if he had to listen to that sick litany much longer he might kill Potter, or himself, or both. Worse yet, Potter had these odd twitches; sometimes he would stop and his whole body would shudder. They were getting more frequent.   
  
"Sometimes he would rape the parents too, either before or after they were flayed. Either before or after they were dead."  
  
"Shite, shut up already," Draco said without real hope, and he fumbled for the flask of chalky pink potion that he carried with him for his constantly churning stomach. For the past two weeks he had a constant case of heartburn and nausea. Right now he had to take a swig whenever Potter’s monologue got to this point.   
  
"If the children were really young he would roast them and eat them, but not if they were over 3. They were too stringy and tough then."  
  
Draco jerked Potter to a stop by the back of his jumper and whispered a spell. A thin curtain of yellowish fog appeared in front of them, and Potter reached toward it. Draco slapped his hand down and said softly, "Potter, be very quiet now."   
  
Another whispered spell and Draco stooped down and touched the ground at the foot of the misty curtain with the tip of his wand. It parted before them as if pulled back by invisible hands. Draco shepherded Potter through; making sure neither of them touched the mist.   
  
20 feet past the curtain, Potter asked softly, "Can I talk now?"  
  
Draco ground his teeth. "If you must. Keep it quiet." Trying to get him to stay silent for more than a handful of minutes was impossible; he would get more and more agitated until the words poured out, loudly. Draco nearly had a bloody heart attack the first time that happened.   
  
"If the children were too old to eat he would do the Cruciatus Curse on them until their hearts gave out."  
  
Draco wasn’t a fool; he knew Potter’s repetitive speech was both a manifestation of his psychological torment and a release valve. It just went to show how soft Potter was. The noise was dangerous. If they got as far as the next step, the content was going to be even more dangerous.  
  
"He used their skin for gloves."  
  
Draco sighed with relief. The routine was done and it would be 3 or 10 minutes before it started again. He used the time to put as much distance between them and the stone circle as they could, but he pushed too far too fast, and had to stop, gasping. He and Potter collapsed against a huge boulder as the sun began to rise.  
  
"Hey, Potter," Draco said sourly, "Congratulations. Today is the first day of the rest of your fucking life."   
  
No answer.   
  
He touched the bandages on the side of his face and neck gingerly; the wound was stinging from his sweat. He plucked his shirt away from his chest and looked down. There were spots where the blood was seeping through. Grey fuzz started to obscure his sight, and he fumbled in his pocket for the blood-replenishing potion, the liquid slimy and metallic on his tongue. He leaned against the rock, willing himself to breathe slow and deep.  
  
When he could focus again, he checked on Potter, slumped beside him. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and he didn’t respond to Draco calling his name or shaking his shoulder. What a weakling. "Ennervate." Potter’s eyes snapped open.   
  
"Malfoy, where’s Hermione and Ron?"  
  
Damn these Gryffindors! They were like rocks, stupid and stubborn and by all the gods and goddesses fucking fixated!   
  
"They left the battle with Lupin. They will meet you at St. Mungo’s, but it’s not safe to go there yet. We’re going to go hide until it’s been secured."  
  
"You’re lying. They’re dead. Riddle was doing _Avada Kedavra_ on them."  
  
"You killed him before he finished the spell. Granger and the Weasel are hurt but they’re alive."  
  
"Riddle liked to bugger Muggle children."  
  
Draco didn’t say anything to that. It wouldn’t make any difference either way. Instead he stood up and tugged Potter up after him.   
  
+++++  
  
They popped into the alley behind the hotel as the sun was setting and Draco felt a few knots of tension leave him when he saw the alley was empty of other life. They had apparated to four other locations, hid and rested and ran again, and all through the day Potter continued his insane litany. Except for a few short naps they hadn’t slept for over a day, food was even scantier, they were injured and Draco was still bleeding, but he thought he could see the end of the nightmare. He cast glamours on Potter, himself and their backpacks and they suddenly appeared to be two Muggle businessmen in pinstripe suits carrying leather briefcases.  
  
"Potter, you MUST be quiet until we get to our room and I get some wards put up. Can you be quiet or must I cast _Langlock_?"  
  
Potter shuddered. "No more hexes. I’ll be quiet."  
  
They entered the posh lobby and Draco smoothly checked them in, flashing his platinum card and tipping carefully: enough to guarantee good service but not too excessively so as not to attract too much attention.   
  
By the time they got to the elevator Potter was starting to look green and was sweating profusely, but once in the elevator he just said, "You did that like you’re used to it."  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Just because I’ve been in hiding doesn’t mean I have to slum it."   
  
"Malfoy, where’s Hermione and Ron?"  
  
"Shut it! Not now! We’re almost to our rooms, then you can talk."  
  
Finally Draco was sliding the key card into its slot and flicking on the lights. There was a nicely appointed sitting area with a wet bar on one end and sliding doors to a balcony. Through the door on the other side was a bedroom with a king-size bed and a big bath. Draco prowled around, testing for traps and jinxes, and finding none, cast wards of his own, including the Imperturbable and Intruder Charms. He began to pull out his security items when he noticed that Potter was still standing in the middle of the sitting area, briefcase in hand, staring blankly.   
  
Draco removed the illusions and he and Potter were once more in their dirty, ripped up denims and jumpers. Potter shook his head and looked at Draco.  
  
"Malfoy, where’s Hermione and Ron?"  
  
"They’re with Lupin, in hiding. They’ll meet you at St. Mungo’s when it’s safe."  
  
"They’re dead. Riddle was doing _Avada Kedavra_ on them."  
  
"You killed Voldemort before he finished the spell. They’re hurt but they’re alive."  
  
"Riddle liked to bugger Muggle children."  
  
Draco finished setting up his security devices: A tiny foe glass that strapped to his wrist like a watch, an odd looking sneakoscope, and two medallions.   
  
"First he would flay the skin off their parents in front of them."  
  
Draco hung one on the medallions on the doorknob and the other on the handle of the sliding door to the balcony.  
  
"Sometimes he would rape the parents too, or have one of his Death Eaters do it, either before or after they were flayed. Either before or after they were dead."  
  
"Hang on just a minute, Potter, I have to cast a spell." He fell silent and Draco cast an anti-apparation spell on the three rooms, not forgetting the closets. "All right, go ahead." He reached for his flask.  
  
"If the children were really young he would roast them and eat them, but not if they were over 3. They were too stringy and tough then."  
  
Next Draco got out a slip of parchment and a quill, and wrote a brief note. ‘Sweet Em has the measles. Twice the Owls of a smart witch with your House place our 1st Year.’   
  
"If the children were too old to eat he would do the Cruciatus Curse on them until their heart would give out."  
  
Stepping out onto the balcony, Draco raised a hand into the night, ignoring the Muggle traffic 21 floors below. A summoning charm, and a small brown bat landed on his hand. He stroked the mouse-like flyer gently, whispering instructions, then launched it into the sky with the bit of parchment in its claws. Turning, he saw Potter standing in the doorway, looking out over the city.   
  
"He used their skin for gloves."  
  
He almost missed the bunching of muscles before Potter bolted for the balcony edge, but his seeker reflexes saved him – saved Potter – as he blocked the lunge and wrestled him back into their hotel room. Potter collapsed, sobbing, and Draco let him cry, making sure the wards were up and the room secure.  
  
Finally, he turned to the wet, dirty heap on the floor, whose sobs changed to a kind of keening moan, rising and falling with his breath. He shook his shoulder and said, "Potter, come on, let’s get you cleaned up."  
  
Potter ignored him, that awful keening never stopping. He shook the shoulder a little harder, his voice sharpening, "Come ON, Potter, you stink!"  
  
Now Potter jerked away from him, only to curl up in a foetal position on the floor. Draco snorted. Fine. Ungrateful snot. Let him stay there then. At least he was crying silently now.   
  
He called room service and when it was delivered he simply tossed Potter’s invisibility cloak over him. He instructed the servant to leave the cart and wheeled it over to the sitting area. He pulled the cloak back off and knelt down. "Come on now, Potter, there’s food." He managed to get him into a chair and handed him a bowl of soup. Potter was able to eat about half the soup before he seemed to lose interest.   
  
Draco was enjoying the dinner, not that it was up to Malfoy standards, or even Hogwarts, but it was tolerable, quite good for Muggle cooking. The clear soup was warming and evenly seasoned and the salad fresh and crisp, though a touch too oily. The potatoes were substandard and the steamed vegetables overdone, but the Beef Wellington was tender and juicy.   
  
He was reaching for the crème brulee when he noticed that Potter was no longer eating. "Potter, something wrong with the food?"  
  
"Malfoy, where’s Ron and Hermione?"  
  
"Damn it! Potter, THEY ARE WITH LUPIN!"  
  
Potter glared green daggers at him and he thought he had finally gotten through.  
  
"Liar."   
  
Draco blew out a breath in frustration. "Go take a shower."  
  
"You’re lying. They’re dead. Riddle Avada’d them."  
  
Draco abandoned his desert with a promise that he would be back for it later. "You killed him before he killed them. They’re alive." He pulled Potter up and steered him to the bathroom. He seemed more responsive after even the half cup of soup, so maybe a shower would help. It had to help the stench in here.   
  
"Riddle liked to bugger Muggle children."  
  
He got the shower running. "Take your clothes off and shower."   
  
Potter looked blankly at him. "First he would flay the skin off their parents in front of them."  
  
"Oh for the love of Merlin." Draco took off his glasses and tugged Potter’s lumpy homemade jumper off over his head, then sat him down so he could pull off his trainers and socks. The socks didn’t match, he noticed. What a loser.   
  
"Sometimes he would rape the parents too, either before or after they were flayed. Either before or after they were dead."  
  
Pulling him back to his feet, he unbuttoned and unzipped Potter’s denims and pushed them down around his ankles before helping him out of them and into the huge shower stall. But Potter just stood there under the water spray, making no move to wash.  
  
"If the children were really young he would roast them and eat them, but not if they were over 3. They were too stringy and tough then."  
  
"Potter, I just ate!" Draco shook his head, and finally stripped down himself. He did need a shower too, after all. He cast a sealing spell on his bandages and sniffed at the soap, shampoo and conditioner the hotel provided. It would have to do.  
  
"If the children were too old to eat he would do the Cruciatus Curse on them until their heart would give out."  
  
The big shower had dual showerheads, which he appreciated. He adjusted them so they would both get the benefit of them, and began to shampoo Potter’s unruly mess.  
  
"He used their skin for gloves."  
  
"Potter, close your eyes and mouth."  
  
Once Potter’s hair was done Draco soaped up a washcloth and handed it to him. "Wash yourself," he said firmly, and he did, in a kind of jerky, abstract way. Draco washed his own hair and body, then herded Potter out of the shower.   
  
"Malfoy, where’s Hermione and Ron?"  
  
Malfoy groaned. "Not again, please!"  
  
"They’re dead, aren’t they? Riddle killed them."  
  
"Dry off, Potter," Draco told him, towelling off himself.  
  
"Riddle liked to bugger Muggle children." The towel hung in his hand.  
  
Draco shook his head and picked up his wand and did a teeth-cleaning spell on both of them. Then he took the towel and rubbed Potter’s head roughly. Merlin, that hair! He patted off the worst of the water. The hotel provided a fluffy terrycloth dressing robe, and he wrapped Potter in it.   
  
"First he would flay the skin off their parents in front of them."  
  
"I know, I know!" Draco wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed the hotel comb, steered Potter out to the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the bed. He attacked the tangled mop, trying to get the knots out without pulling too much.   
  
"Sometimes he would rape the parents too, either before or after they were flayed. Either before or after they were dead."  
  
"Doesn’t your hair EVER lay down?"  
  
"If the children were really young he would roast them and eat them, but not if they were over 3. They were too stringy and tough then."  
  
Suddenly it was all too much. Draco dropped the comb and rushed back to the bathroom. He retched up his fine dinner, the potion residues, his dinner from the night before and he would have sworn his toenails. Between spasms he heard: "If the children were too old to eat he would do the Cruciatus Curse on them until their hearts would give out."  
  
He finally stumbled to his feet and flushed the toilet, then rinsed his mouth out and splashed water on his face. He looked at his reflection and saw the weariness, the fear, the disgust, and the pain.   
  
"He used their skin for gloves."  
  
Draco bent his head and wept.  
  
+++++  
  
It was nearing midnight when there was a knock on the hotel door. Draco glanced at his foe glass and the sneakoscope before he opened the wards and let Terry Boot in.  
  
"How is he?"  
  
"Sleeping for now. He woke up 4 times in the last 3 hours.   
  
"Did you give him a Dreamless Sleep potion?"  
  
"Two of them. He’s still been waking up. He’s not, um. He isn’t…. He’s a little bit crazy."  
  
Terry nodded. "Hermione told me the spell she created would work through the connection between them. It was designed to be one way, but she said there might be, um, back splash."   
  
"Great. Wonderful." Draco let his head fall onto the upholstered back of the sofa. "He’s got this cycle he runs through: first asking about Granger and Weasley, then saying they’re dead, then talking about Voldemort’s treatment of his Muggle captives. All in this polite tone of voice. He’ll follow orders, other wise he’s just kind of blank. Except…"  
  
"Except?"  
  
"He tried to throw himself off the balcony."  
  
Terry was silent for a long moment. "Let me check your wound."  
  
After he had cleaned and re-bandaged the long slice, the apprentice healer pressed another blood-replenishing potion on him and said, "Go lay down Draco, get a couple hours of sleep. I’ll keep watch out here. Justin will pop over when they’re ready, probably in 4 or 5 hours."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Draco slid as quietly as he could into the big bed. Ahhh, lying down. Any bed was a good bed when you’d been awake over 36 hours. Draco felt he was melting into the mattress and was just about asleep when he heard Potter shift about. "Ron? Hermione?"  
  
Oh, nnooooo, Draco moaned in his head. Not again, please!  
  
Potter’s hand brushed his side, then he squirmed over to Draco and cuddled up against him, wrapping his arms around Draco’s torso and laying his head on Draco’s chest. Draco was tense with surprise, barely restraining himself from pushing Potter away and springing out of the bed. Potter gave a contented sigh, rubbing his face against his chest and saying again, "Ron" this time in a loving purr. Then his breathing steadied as he slipped into deep sleep.   
  
Draco looked down at the wild mop of black hair on his chest. So Potter was sleeping with the Weasel. He searched his mind for an appropriate reaction. Horror? Not after Voldemort. Disgust? Again, after Tom Riddle, two blokes in bed together didn’t seem like much to worry about. Draco vaguely felt like he should leap out of bed and run screaming out of the room. But he was too tired, the bed was too warm and soft and anything that prevented that awful repetition was fine by him. If that meant Potter mistaking him for Weasley in his sleep, well, so be it.   
  
Draco twined his arms around him and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. "Sweet dreams, Harry." 


End file.
